


High Stakes

by Kinematic



Category: Tiny Meat Gang (Band)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Feminization, M/M, POV Second Person, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23283436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinematic/pseuds/Kinematic
Summary: “Open up, bitch,” Noel deadpans. It’s clear he’s putting on an act because he has a tiny, little hint of a smile that just won’t quit. “I won.”
Relationships: Cody Ko/Noel Miller
Comments: 15
Kudos: 215





	High Stakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. I'm sorry for this. I have nothing to say for myself except please don't sue me. 
> 
> Don't ask me how or why I came up with this. 
> 
> I'm sorry.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

The problem with being such good friends with someone is that your “boundaries” with each other have largely been annihilated over time. It’s a good thing to be so completely comfortable with another person, and yet, dangerous—since you no longer recognize what is and isn’t a normal thing to say to your best friend. Sometimes, you encourage each other to do reckless shit just because you both think it’s funny. Other times, you peep each other’s dicks on a tour bus because you’re a little drunk and think it’d be funny to know who is more “chode-y.” It’s a normal problem, really.

So, of course, it’s no surprise that, one day, you find yourself on your back, your best friend pinning you down and trying to spit a mouthful of a Starbucks iced caramel macchiato into your mouth.

“Open up, bitch,” Noel deadpans. It’s clear he’s putting on an act because he has a tiny, little hint of a smile that just won’t quit. “I won.”

There was this cute redheaded barista named Julia at the local Starbucks, which you frequented during breaks at work and where you occasionally met to get writing done. She had a few tattoos and an eyebrow piercing, and you were both smitten.

Noel proposed a bet, rather deviously, that Julia would come to remember his name first. You knew he was full of shit because Julia laughed at your jokes, but you agreed, though not before making fun of Noel for his regular beverage order. It was at that moment, while you asked for thirty bucks if she wrote “Cody” on your cup without asking, that Noel asked to force-feed you that drink you mocked so readily. Of course you thought it was funny in the moment, but you lost the bet. ****

“No!” You jerk your head to the side, but Noel grabs you by the chin. His fingers dig into your jawbone as he yanks your face toward his. In the back of your mind, you realize how much power he has in just his thumb and index finger. You’ll have to tell him later when you reflect on how disgusting but hilarious this moment ultimately was. He’d think that was funny, saying that skinny guys like him deserve something to brag about.

“Cody,” Noel says, tone shifting like he’s trying to feed his dog medicine. Like, _I know what’s best for you. Calm down._ You freeze.

For just a moment, Noel’s brow twitches, as if he’s surprised that you surrendered. But he pushes that aside, now leveraging your mouth open with those same two fingers. “Good boy. Now let me spit in your mouth.”

It makes you laugh, so he laughs. You can’t help it. This whole thing is so dumb and disgusting.

“I said keep your mouth open,” Noel grits out, nails digging into the corner of your lips. He’s trying to regain control, but he knows he won’t have to fight hard anymore. A bet is a bet.

Trying to contain the last of your laughs, you part your lips for him. Because you’re an asshole, you stick out your tongue expectantly.

Noel squints. “Okay, Linda Lovelace. You’re looking a little eager there all of a sudden.”

“Do it!” You tease. “You said you’d do it! Spit in my—” a burst of laughter springs forth before you can stop it.

Noel flashes his teeth in a pearly white smile. “I won’t if you keep doing that with your tongue. Makin’ me horny, that’s what’s up.”

“Good.”

There is a brief silence, just a beat, where you find yourselves studying each other’s faces in the _are we really going to do this?_ type of way. Sure, you guys mess with each other all the time. But exchanging bodily fluids is a bit of an odd turn. Even Noel, who, for the record, is still pinning you down, looks sheepish.

It’s like some cogs are turning in his brain and suddenly Noel reprograms himself. “Okay,” he says, leaning over to grab his Starbucks cup. “A bet is a bet.”

Suddenly, doubt churns in your stomach. He’s going to _spit_ in your _mouth_. Fucking gross, dude. That’s what you should have said to him in that moment.

And yet, when Noel grabs your face once more and wedges your lips apart with his thumb, you don’t fight him. In fact, you can’t peel your eyes away, watching as he takes a sip from his straw. He leans over you now, inches from your face. Puffs of air from his nose tickle your skin; you flinch, but not enough for him to lose his grip. He has total control.

The illusion is broken when the first dribbles of coffee touch your tongue. You immediately shove him, sitting upright and spitting it out on your own shirt. Noel is sitting now on his haunches, head tipped back in roaring laughter.

“Fucking gross, dude,” you utter instinctively, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. You want to laugh, too, but there’s a weird tingling in your fingers and toes.

Noel swipes tears from the corners of his eyes. “Oh my god. I’ll never let you forget this. Oh my god.”

You touch your chest. Your heart is pounding.

*

That night, you jerk off to the memory of Noel spitting in your mouth, they way he forced you to take it.

 _No more bets_ , you think idly, chest heaving as you come down from your orgasm.

He’s so good at playing the big man in charge. It’s the smoothness of his voice, you realize. He could be a phone sex operator.

 _Enough_ , you tell yourself, wiping a hand across your mouth subconsciously. You want to forget what happened earlier. It was too weird, even for your best friend.

The next morning, you wake up achingly hard after a dream where Noel dirty talked you to orgasm and jerked himself off onto your face.

 _Boundaries, Cody. Boundaries._ Everyone could use them.

*

But with Noel, you couldn’t maintain them forever. And a few days later, chasing the high, you run your mouth.

“Well, you told me you were gonna—” you snort, unable to contain a laugh or preserve your last shred of dignity, “fuck my pussy.”

Noel is good at improv, so he adopts the persona from your dream and scoots across the couch. “C’mere baby.” He pushes in close, slinging his arm around your shoulders, lips grazing your ear. It makes you laugh again, but your skin is so hot all of a sudden. “Daddy is gonna bend you over and fill that tight pussy with his hot cum.”

“You would do that? For me?” You ask innocently, voice quiet.

You’re playing a character. He’s playing a character. Maybe this is okay?

“Anything for my little princess,” Noel replies with ease, nibbling your ear lobe.

You pull away. From this close, his voice sounds like pure sex. And that’s not even considering what he says.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?” He asks with a frown. Why does it sound so right coming from his mouth?

You have two options now: you could come up with a coquettish response to keep this game going; or you could chicken out and end this now. You could both continue, instead, where you left off: watching Black Mirror and eating Skinny Pop, before you decided to open your mouth and tell him about your ha-ha-funny one-off dream, which was actually neither "ha-ha-funny" nor "one-off."

But you don’t do that.

Instead, you surge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him like you’ll die if you don’t. Like those scenes in movies where the two sexy protagonists are being pursued by one of the villain’s goons, who will shoot them if they don’t create a diversion by jumping each other’s bones.

Noel lets you climb into his lap. He doesn’t say anything when you rake your fingers through his hair or when you moan when he touches the tops of your thighs. He kisses back, too.

You’re drowning in him.

“Don’t tell me,” Noel begins, tearing himself away for a moment. You try to chase his lips but he braces his hands against your chest to keep you at a distance. His cheeks are flushed. “This is because I spat Starbucks in your mouth like a mommy bird?”

In a moment of clarity, you nod. “I guess so.”

Noel sounds a bit uncertain, but he’s trying not to be judgmental. He’s a good friend. He’s also trying to be funny, because that’s what he knows to do when times are tough. “So, do you like, actually want me to fill that tight pussy with my hot cum?”

You blink, almost dumbfounded by the question. The first rule of improv is to never say no. It’s why you accepted that stupid bet in the first place. “I guess so?”

Noel clenches his teeth. He avoids your eyes for a moment, just long enough that it makes you worry—like you crossed the invisible boundary that you didn’t know existed.

“How did that dream end?” he says finally. It’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.

*

Julia is but a distant memory as Noel smears his leaking dick across your lips that night and promises, if you’re good, that he’ll let you bounce on his fingers until you forget your own name.

“Okay,” you whisper, before swallowing him down.

The stakes have never been higher.


End file.
